


Who We Were

by raincoats_and_murder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Kid Sherlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-01-18 07:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raincoats_and_murder/pseuds/raincoats_and_murder
Summary: An au sorta thing staring young John and Sherlock. Has a lotta angst and crazy stuff going on so. This is also posted on my tumblr @raincoats-and-murder if you wanna check it out there





	1. Teaser

The door creaked shut as the boys trekked mud on the expensive wooden floor.  
"Keep quiet, mother might hear and she will not be pleased if she sees the mess we've made." The taller boy turned to his shorter companion and gestured towards stairs.  
"I know Sherlock! Its eleven at night and we're only just coming in, obviously she's gonna be mad." The shorter one whisper shouted, which led to him being shushed violently.  
"John, why must you talk so loudly? If mother wakes up it will be all your fault." John opened his mouth, then froze, staring at the other as they heard the stairs squeak.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of Who We Were with little John and Sherlock. Enjoy!

The sun had set a few hours ago and the night was starting to get very cold. No one was around except for two boys, who were lying down on a tartan blanket on the grass. One boy was talking animatedly, pointing at the sky whilst brushing his curly, dark hair out of his eyes. The other listened carefully whilst pulling his hat down to cover his blond hair and red ears.  
A star shot across the sky causing them to gasp. Silence followed as they wished, even though they knew better than to wish upon a star. An owl hooted in the distance, bursting their peaceful bubble.  
"It's definitely past seven o'clock, mother will kill us. Actually she won't kill you because she absolutely loves you." The dark haired boy stood up and started gathering the remnants of the forgotten picnic.  
"And she won't kill me because that's against the law and mother is a firm believer in the law. At most she'll forbid me from meeting up with you because I'm a 'bad influence'." He imitated his mothers haughty voice as he looked down on the blond haired boy.  
"Well if you weren't so excited to see the stars, then maybe, actually we definitely would be back at yours by now." He sighed and got up, then gathered the muddied blanket carefully and placed it in the basket.  
"And your mum would like you more if you didn't set the kitchen on fire with one of your experiments. And honestly your brother would be more likely to kill us rather than your mother. I mean did you seen how he looked at us when we dropped some soup one the table. It was hilarious." They looked at each other for a second then burst out laughing.  
"Yes Mike absolutely hates anything that isn't done perfectly. He would hate his own baby because it can't eat with a knife and fork properly." This time their laughter was louder as they remembered the look on 'Mike's' face whenever they used that nickname.  
"Well I guess we should be going. Mother is probably asleep by now so if we are extremely quite, she'll be none the wiser."  
Slowly they walked down the hill towards the big house in the distance.

By the time the two boys reached the house, it was a few hours until sunrise. They were tired and cold and frustrated and were arguing with each other.  
"I told you we should have turned right at the tree and not gone towards the pond!"  
"Well it is MY family estate so I know where we're going." He shook his head and lengthened his stride.  
" You know I have a better sense of direction than you. Remember when we we're tryna find the tree. And you made us go all the way to the fence when it was only a little bit away from the house. And I TOLD you that we we're going the wrong way, but smart Sherlock Holmes doesn’t need anybody." The shorter boy ran to catch up whilst he spoke, his voice increasing in sound.  
"Why must you bring that up all the time. It happened such a long time ago and any normal person would have forgotten by now. But not me John Watson who has a memory like an elephant and ears as big as one too!" John covered his ears self consciously and retorted.  
"I thought we agreed not to talk about my ears and - "  
"Shut up John, we're home. Now we must be very quiet otherwise mother will be in a dreadful mood." In his anger John hadn't realised that they had arrived at the back door of the Holmes Estate.  
The back garden was extremely big, as big as some houses, and was very beautiful. Mrs Holmes loved spending money on her flowers and Mr Holmes wanted her happy so he didn’t complain too much. And there wasn’t much to complain about.  
At the bottom end of the garden was a fruit orchard consisting of apples, plums and pears. A little closer to the house was a small copse of trees that provided lovely shade in the hot summer days and were conveniently placed in case the two boys every got hungry. The rest of the garden was split into two. On the left were the edible plants such as peppers and onions and climbing beans. On the right were Mrs Holmes' prized possessions, her flowers.  
There was every time of flower that could be grown in England. Roses, lilies, tulips, hydrangeas and more adorned the flower bed like colourful jewels. Taller plants such as Prince's Feather, Joseph's coat and Knotweed stood high and mighty above the rest, in bright, vibrant colours.  
Every day, no matter the weather, she would be out in her garden, tending to her precious flowers. Cutting, pruning, watering all day long. A flask of tea and a packet of Rich Teas were on the wrought iron table, leftover from the morning.  
They slowly walked up the cobbled path until they reached the door. Sherlock pulled a key out of his coat pocket and unlocked the door.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sad thoughts of Mycroft amd the boys sneaking in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep im just adding a ton of chapters. It's only because I've already posted some on my tumblr @raincoats-and-murder so I want this to be up to date. As usual please leave comments, kudos and enjoy!

The door creaked shut as the boys trekked mud on the expensive wooden floor.  
"Keep quiet, mother might hear and she will not be pleased if she sees the mess we've made." The taller boy turned to his shorter companion and gestured towards stairs.  
"I know Sherlock! Its eleven at night and we're only just coming in, obviously she's gonna be mad." The shorter one whisper shouted, which led to him being shushed violently.  
"John, why must you talk so loudly? If mother wakes up it will be all your fault," John opened his mouth, then froze, staring at the other as they heard the stairs squeak.  
They looked up at the stairwell in anticipation. The stairs creaked again, getting louder and louder, the tension so thick that it was suffocating. Slowly, they walked backwards out of view of the stairwell, and into the back reception room that looked out onto the garden.  
Sherlock looked towards the extravagant armchair that was in the corner. He pointed towards it and John understood immediately. Taking great care, the two boys crawled behind the chair and crouched down. They were hidden in the shadows. No one would find them unless they knew where they were looking.  
John peeked around the edge of the chair, just enough so that he had a clear view of the corridor in front of the stairwell. The only noises that could be heard were the sound of shallow breathing and the creaking of the stairs. Sherlock checked his watch. Nearly five, only a few hours left until Mother wakes up to prepare breakfast. Sherlock was deep in thought and staring at the back of the chair, thinking of excuses for why they were late.  
John started tapping Sherlock, lightly at first then harder and more urgently when he didn't react.  
"Sherlock!" He whispered.  
"It's your mother!" Sherlock's head snapped up and he crawled over to where John was and looked at the stairwell, his eyes widening. How could he have forgotten that today was Sunday? Mother did early morning yoga on Sundays. Silently, he retreated back towards his corner. He sat there thinking once again, seeming to be in a trance. A few seconds later he looked up at John and explained his plan. 

*************************************

Still yawning, Mrs Holmes walked down the stairs. She hasn't slept as well as usual last night, her mind full of worry for her two little boys.  
Well only one of them was actually her little boy but they were together so often that she regarded them both as her sons.  
She always knew when something was wrong and was always right. And this time was no different. She knew when Sherlock had burnt his hand in the "Kitchen Incident", even though he hid his pain. She knew when he was being bullied in school, even though he denied it. And she knew why he was so closed off. He had been taught to be like this by his older brother.  
Mycroft was her star, her light in the darkness, and she loved him dearly. But she knew she had gone wrong with him. They had been too strict and restricting. Mr and Mrs Holmes had raised him to be a perfect child, not a normal child. They taught him how to be an adult, even before he knew how to be a child.  
John and Sherlock had dubbed him "The Ice Man" and although she always scolded them for it, she secretly agreed. Her little Mycroft concealed himself behind layers and layers, thinking they would protect him from pain. But all it did was mean that he would never feel the warmth of love.

She reached the bottom of the stairs with the cogs of her mind turning and her brain full of memories of years ago. At the bottom of the stairs she turned towards the back door, twisting the handle to see if it was locked. She always checked, just to make sure. It twisted all the way, the door opening slightly.  
Immediately all the sleep was gone and Mrs Holmes was wide awake.  
The wooden floor was covered in wet mud, evidence that someone had recently entered. Slowly she approached the last reception room. Her heartbeat sped up, and her hand shook as she reached for the doorknob.  
Margaret Lynne Holmes, you are not allowed to be scared. Fear is a useless thing and I do not need to be afraid. All I need is the adrenaline. I will stay and fight if I need to, not flee like a coward. This is regarding the safety of my family.  
She took a calming breathe and turned the handle. The door swung open noisily, hitting the wall behind it. Cautiously, she walked into the room, her eyes scanning from one end of the room.  
Turning slightly, she looked to the far end of the room, where the coffee table and the seating was. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed a lump on the bigger settee.  
As quiet as she could, she walked over. Her breathing was quiet and her footsteps even quieter, courtesy of her extensive training.  
The lump twitched as she approached. Mrs Holmes reached towards the dark lump. There was a tartan blanket covering them. It was slightly darker in patches, covering the pattern in places.  
She reached out and touched the blanket. In one fluid movement she flung the blanket across the room, and stared down at the lump in shock.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between the (super short) updates  
> I had, and still have, writers block so I have no idea on how to carry this on
> 
> But thanks for bearing with me and enjoyyyy :)

"Hey, hey Sherlie?" John's words were slurred from tiredness. "Yes John? And please don't address me by that horrid nickname." Sherlock was exasperated but not tired. He never seems to need to sleep, thought John. "What we gonna do about Simba?" Sherlock sighed and rolled over to face John. Even in the dim light of the room, John could see Sherlock's eyes shining. "First of all, his name is not Simba. We can't name a wild animal after a Disney character. Second of all, we can't mention him at all or they'll all find out. And lastly, I know exactly what I'm going to do so that does not concern you John." John knew that was Sherlock speak for "I don't know". Sherlock rolled back around and pulled the duvet around himself. He seemed to be talking to himself very quietly. John carried on staring at Sherlock's back until he fell asleep, wondering whether Sherlock ever sleeps. ************************************* The boys woke up at late afternoon, and the sun was glaring through the opposite window. John looked over to Sherlock and saw he was asleep. Taking the chance, John stared at Sherlock, wanting to see if his best friend slept as posh as he is when he's awake. And the answer was no. Sherlock's arms and legs were sprawled out and his hair was a mess atop his pillow. His duvet was on the floor and he clutched something in his right hand. John crept closer to Sherlock and saw it was the pirate figurine John had gifted him on his birthday. As John crept towards the bathroom, he smiled. Maybe Sherlock was more sentimental than he let on. ************************************* Sherlock awoke to the sounds of the shower running and John singing. He wondered how long John would take and how long it would be until Mother demanded they come down for breakfast - or was it lunch? He slowly rose, removing the muddy bedsheets from both beds, as he decided that he had enough time to come up with a suitable plan for ~Simba~.


End file.
